He got the news on a Tuesday. Late November. Quietly, he’d been expecting something. The usual year-end slowdown. But not this.

Just like that. Laid off. Not redundant. No payout. Just told he was surplus to requirements and dismissed.

Inside his head, he was already doing the maths: mortgage; gas bill; the kids’ presents. The numbers didn’t add up. They never do when you’ve got no wages coming in and six weeks till anyone even thinks about hiring again.

He sat there for a while in the van, watching his breath cloud up the windscreen.

Christmas had just been cancelled.

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The incessant “retrofit first” mantra and the resulting crusade against embodied carbon, is running headfirst into a concrete wall: the crumbling legacy of Large Panel System (LPS) tower blocks.

These products of a post-war building boom represent a ticking clock, an exception to the rule where the ideals of retrofitting clash with the harsh realities of structural safety, financial viability, and long-term sustainability. The Building Safety Act is now forcing a final reckoning that has been dodged for over 50 years, creating a high-stakes battleground where short-term environmental goals are pitted against generational safety.

This article uncovers the five hard truths that, in the unique case of these problematic structures, tip the scales decisively in favour of demolition.

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It’s entirely appropriate that time is measured in the gentle but unrelenting swing of a pendulum. Because, if history teaches us anything, it’s that a swing in one direction is pretty much always followed by a swing in the other.

In politics, nations swing to the right in one election, only to swing left a few years later. In fashion, I’ve seen flared trousers come and go at least twice; each time giving way to a skinnier silhouette. In the 1980s, bands adopted synthesisers as a backlash against the guitars of glam, prog and punk rock. Fast forward a few years, and the synths gave way to a rediscovery of guitar grit.

So maybe it shouldn’t come as any surprise that the whole idea of sustainability is starting to swing back too. For a movement born to save the planet from rising seas, it feels like the tide might just be turning.

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In my wardrobe there’s a denim jacket. It wasn’t made by Levi’s or Wrangler. In fact, I’ve no idea what make it is. I bought it second-hand at Camden Market more than 30 years ago, and it’s been a staple of my wardrobe ever since.

Over the years, I’ve worn it with shirts and ties, casual shirts, and T-shirts. I once wore it with nothing underneath; not to look sexy, but because I’d dropped the contents of a burrito down the front of my white T-shirt.

My denim jacket has accompanied me around the world. It’s been to construction equipment exhibitions and music festivals. It once blew into a river while I was fishing, and it’s doubled as a dog bed in the back of my car on more than one occasion.

It’s long since lost the stiffness of new denim. It no longer stands proud on my shoulders; it drapes. It’s no longer denim jacket-shaped. It’s me-shaped.

I wear it in spring when it’s just a bit too cool for a T-shirt alone. I wear it in summer because you just never know with British weather. I wear it in the autumn with a jumper, and I wear it under a heavier coat in the winter.

I own some amazing shoes, a large collection of designer ties, and several very expensive handmade suits. But I’ve worn that jacket more than all those items combined.

That jacket cost me £10. It’s possibly the best tenner I’ve ever spent on clothing.

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